To Be Good
by Chicago Brown
Summary: It is the curse of many evil men, and their ultimate tragedy, that they spend their lives seeking goodness, but never touching it. Very onesided Vidal/Mercedes.


_AN; I really don't know how this became so long, but here it is. I tried really hard not make Vidal OOC, but I admit, I may have over interpreted __Sergi López's excellent performance. Please review! _

_..._

_But Captain, to obey - just like that - for obedience's sake... without questioning... That's something only people like you do._

He is not a good man.

He can't even remember a time when he could have possibly been good. He knows this, as clearly as he knows his own reflection, but somehow he has managed to ignore it, bury it deep beneath his pride in what he is. He is smart. He is ambitious. He is obedient.

Oh yes, he is obedient.

But not good.

The doctor is a good man; he is certainly among the best of men, looking into his honest and patient face, it would be impossible to argue otherwise. Later, he will ask himself what it was that made him pull the trigger of his pistol. Was it that the doctor was a traitor? That he directly disobeyed him? Was it the almost pitying look in his eyes?

Or was it simply because he isn't good?

He asks himself this question as he waits outside his wife's room, the girl sitting near him. For one brief moment, they are connected in their anxiety, albeit for different reasons. The girl wants her mother to live, to be happy with her baby boy. She cares only for her, and the brother she doesn't even know.

He chances a quick look at her, and feels the tiny bite of what is left of his conscience. He has just killed the one man who could have saved her mother, and now it too late. Carmen will die, he knows it.

And it's his fault.

Afterwards, he clings to his son. He may not be good, but he will make sure that his son is _great_. He promises himself that when it is all done, when he has eradicated the rebels and done his duty, he will retire. He will not pursue power like he knows many of his peers will, he will dedicate his life to his son. The best education, the best home, his son will grow into the man, the leader, he knows he will never be. He will be kind to Ofelia, he will send her to a good school and provide for her, and, because he still feels a pang of guilt, he will let her keep her distance.

Maybe, maybe he could even remarry, to someone who will be a good mother for his boy. Someone who could teach the morals he doesn't possess.

Someone who could teach him, to be good.

At the funeral, his eyes wonder across to the girl again, and then up to the woman standing over her.

Mercedes.

He studies her face for a long time, ignoring the drone of the priest lamenting the death of a woman he knows he never loved. She's not beautiful, at least not in the way Carmen was, but she has dignity and grace in her features which is suddenly very attractive to him. She's certainly very competent, in all the time she has run his household his only complaints have been over burnt coffee. He also knows she cares for the girl, and her motherly instinct is clearly on display here, as she adopts a 

protective stance and rests a comforting hand on her young ward's shoulder. She is kind. She is calm. She is loyal.

In many ways, she is his opposite.

And she is good.

These thoughts continue into the evening as he watches her tend to the baby. She uses soft, hushed words, and her face carries a loving and tender expression. For a second he feels disappointed that she's never worn it for him, but then, why would she? He allows himself a moment to imagine her being tender to him, kissing his cheek, stroking his hand, loving him.

Would she accept him, he wonders, if he asked her to marry him? He can't pretend she'd consent out of any feelings for him, or even any desire for wealth or position- that's not her way. But there is a chance she would, so as to stay close to the children.

But he can't become distracted by these fantasies now. Now, he has to be sure. The rebel had said there was an insider, someone from his very household, someone close to him. He is still smart, and no matter what he may want to imagine, only a very few people here could be that well informed.

As he questions her, the fear in her voice is almost tangible, but it's her reaction to his remark about the lock which confirms his suspicion. By the time she leaves the room, he is certain.

She is not loyal, after all.

When he captures her is the forest, he is not surprised to see she has brought the girl as well, rather, he is surprised the child followed her so readily.

And then it dawns on him.

She knew.

Mercedes is a traitor, and the brat knew all along. He could have swallowed his pride if it had been just her and the doctor, but she had told her little friend all about how they were tricking the stupid Captain. He can just imagine them now, laughing at him.

He is seething by the time he arrives at the barn, but is calmed when he sees her. She is being tied up by Garces, her face empty of all emotion. It seems she is not going to put up a fight.

Her defeat makes his anger turn upon himself. How could he have been so foolish? He trusted this woman, unwittingly letting her in on all his plans. He had even fantasized, hoped, of marrying her. He thought she could save him.

And all this time she had hated him.

Well, if that was indeed the case, he will give her just cause to do so. He will make her scream, and sob and beg to die. He will avenge the hope she doesn't know she's crushed.

He dismisses Garces. The Sergeant is uncertain, but after all, he assures him, she's just a woman.

_That's what you've always thought._ _That's why I was able to get away with it. I was invisible to you._

As she speaks, she refuses to look at him, maybe she believes that if she does she'll loose her nerve. However, despite himself, he's impressed. She's right; she has been able to get around him because she's quiet, sensible and good at her job. She used his own pride against him.

And even now, tied up and awaiting torture, she still surprises him, and he is more attracted to her then ever. He can't resist touching her face, turning it into a grab and a sneer so she doesn't suspect her power over him. For the briefest of moments, he considers kissing her, just to see what she tastes like, but he resists, and instead moves over to his tools.

He recites his long rehearsed speech mostly for something to say, she won't tell him anything, he's sure. As he does though, he can't help but wonder how she would react if he just took her now. It would surely condemn whatever part of his soul he still had left, and it would not be tender, or loving, or anything close to what he had wished for, but if she could not be mother to his son, his caring wife, at least now he has an opportunity to feel her beneath him, have her warmth surround him.

Would she let him, or would she fight? She may want to let him get it over and done with, her spirit may be so crushed that she'd just lie there. But then, she may not be as defeated as she appears.

At this thought, he gasps in shock and pain as a knife enters his shoulder. He turns to see her standing before him, her binds cut, her eyes now fixed on him. She stabs him again, and again. The wounds she gives him are precise, but not fatal. She doesn't want to kill him.

She wants to torture him.

He finally drops to the ground and stares up at her. Mercedes towers over him, hatred and anger gleaming in her eyes. It is not fear that holds his gaze, it's awe.

The dark angel places her knife inside his mouth and holds it to the inside of his cheek as she hisses at him.

_I'm not some old man! Or a wounded prisoner! Motherfucker... Don't you dare touch the girl. You won't be the first pig I've gutted!_

With these words she rips through his cheek, and as he screams in pain he is dimly aware of her escape.

He orders his men to fetch her back, the fury almost blinding him. He will capture her again; he will take his time and break her. Her sobbing will be his symphony, and he will conduct it with joy. And when she is so broken that she cannot even cry anymore, he will make her his.

And the girl? The girl can watch.

He contemplates everything he will do to the both of them as he stands at his mirror, examining her handiwork. The familiar face before him now has a sickening half grin, like that of deranged clown. He stitches it diligently, wincing every time the needle enters his skin, all the time playing out his revenge in his head.

First, he'll force her to look on as her precious Ofelia is beaten. He'll tell her that it will stop, as soon as she tells him everything he wants to know. But when she does, he thinks gleefully, he'll tell her that he doesn't believe her, before beating the brat again.

And then... and then he'll send his men away, and he'll force Mercedes to the ground. She'll try to fight him, but fear for the girl will control her. No doubt she'll tell her to turn away, but the child won't be able to. He will enter her, and delight in her attempts not to look at him, her weak arms trying to push him away.

His fantasy is cut short by a stabbing pain from his wound- as he downs a glass of liquor, and it forces him to examine his face once more. He stares into himself and is repulsed by what he sees, shame creeps under his skin and starts to itch. This is not professional. It is not logical, it is not smart, it is not neat. He isn't a good man, but he will not allow himself to lose hold of what he is. The woman is a 

criminal, nothing more. She will be caught, interrogated and executed. That is all. The girl knew, yes, and he must find out how much she knows now, but she is a child. His son's sister.

He must think of his son.

And then the news comes. Mercedes has escaped, safe among her people. If she has any sense, she'll be on her way out of the country by now, but then, she may come back for the girl.

And then everything happens so quickly. The noise. Ofelia standing there, terror etched on her features like glass. His son in her arms. Soft but undefeatable slowness taking control of his limbs.

He follows her into the crumbling maze, desperately fighting his body for control- he must get his son back, he is all that matters. He can't help but feel that the stones are working against him, hiding his son from view. And then he finds them. Ofelia is having an argument with herself, the child clearly mad. There is nothing he can do for her. Unflinching, he takes back what is his and shoots the girl.

His son is all that matters now.

As he walks slowly back, he is conscious that the noise has stopped.

And then he sees her. She stands among her comrades, victorious. They all wait patiently for him to approach, safe in the knowledge that he cannot touch them. It occurs to him that he has never seen her look so beautiful. He calmly hands her his precious bundle.

Strange, he thinks, she will be mother to his son after all.

He makes his final request of her, but is cut short.

_No. He won't even know your name._

And he knows why.


End file.
